


Don't Give Up The Ship

by gwydionx



Category: DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Crack, Cruise Ship Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Slow Burn, fudged timelines, it’s all crack, jealous ex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:19:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21795823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwydionx/pseuds/gwydionx
Summary: Jason and Roy go undercover on a couple’s cruise to locate a dangerous psychokinetic weapon.Turns out they aren’t the only ones.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Roy Harper/Jason Todd, past Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 108





	Don't Give Up The Ship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheFightingBull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFightingBull/gifts).

> A gift fic for one of my favorite people. Thank you for your patience and encouragement at every turn. :)
> 
> Prompts are will they/won't they, fake dating, and jealous ex with Jason, Roy, and Slade.

“Well, shit.” 

Roy glanced up from where he’d buried his face in the hor d'oeuvres. Parties like this always brought out the foodie in him. He blamed Oliver. “Hmph?”

Jason turned back with a muffled curse. He was resolutely not looking in the direction of the door. “We got company.”

Roy turned from the bar. 

_ Company _ meant one of two things—either the job just got harder, or the stakes just went up dramatically. Usually he could tell the difference by tone of voice, but this time, Roy couldn’t make the distinction. 

One glance across the room told him why. 

“That’s—”

“Yeah.” Jason downed his tumbler of whiskey in one shot. “Call me a cab?”

“In the middle of the goddamn Pacific?” Roy muttered under his breath. They’d planned a quick snatch and go, and Kori was waiting on shore to come pick them up the moment they’d located their target in the sea of unsuspecting cruise passengers. Looks like that just got a lot more difficult. 

A lot of things got more difficult when Deathstroke walked into a room. 

‘Course, he wasn’t dressed as Deathstroke. He _ was _dressed in a fine-ass tux that had even straight guys glancing his way. Never let it be said Slade had no presence. 

The eye patch probably helped. Roy never saw the appeal—guy couldn’t make up his mind between ninja and pirate, that was his own business. It turned other people’s cranks, though. Including half the Teen Titans, back in the day. What was it Dick had called him? _ Sex in kevlar_.

Roy didn’t know. He was there to watch a very different ass. 

Y’know, Jason’s. ‘Cause they were on a mission. “You thinking a Lebanon?”

“Don’t see how we could. This whole thing just became a powder keg.” 

Slade glanced their way, and the bastard didn’t even have the decency to look surprised. He’d probably clocked them the moment he got on the ship and was laughing his ass off behind that smooth facade. “D’you think he’s here for the—”

“Hors d'oeuvres!” 

Jason was a damn good actor, but Roy caught the wince at the sound of that voice—cloying and sweet, and just a little too earnest.

It wasn’t just Deathstroke. Dick Grayson himself was making a beeline for them across the bar. He was in full-blown trust fund mode; tux, tie, and a vapid smile that would put Brucie to shame. 

_ Motherfucker. _

“Oh thank _ god_,” Dick gushed, muscling past Roy to reach the plate of shrimp tartare. “The plane ride was absolute _ hell_.” 

Roy grunted back and moved exactly an inch. “Watch it,” he huffed. “I got dibs on the avocado.” 

Dick flashed him a smile that something between Bruce Wayne at his worst and Paris Hilton at her best. It was gorgeous and nausea-inducing all at once. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”

Jason cut in with a glower. “Step off, pretty boy. This is a private conversation."

Of course, telling Dick to back down was like telling a sugared up four year old to stop screaming—it wasn't even going to register. He blinked, and didn't drop his smile. "I think we're all here to enjoy ourselves, Mister..."

"Nunya," Jason said, like the ghost of the ‘90s he was. “As in Nunya-Business. Get lost.” 

Dick’s eyes narrowed with an edge that made Roy nervous. “Oh, that’s clever.” He turned and called over his shoulder. “Sweetheart, come hear how clever this is.”

Roy winced. That was it. This operation was officially fucked. He opened his eyes to see Slade Wilson saunter to Dick's side, then watched in horror as he slid an arm around Dick's waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

_ Couples cruise_, Roy realized. They’d researched this. It was why he and Jason had matching tuxes. That didn’t make hearing Dick call the freaking Terminator _ sweetheart _any less jarring.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Slade growled by way of greeting. "Do we have a problem here?" 

And... Oh. _ Oh, damn_. Roy did his best not to blanche, because Slade's hand definitely just slid down to Dick's ass.

Dick's faux smile widened. He leaned in to the embrace without missing a beat. "Just getting to know our cruise mates. This one might be even more of a foodie than me."

Dick nodded to Roy, but Slade's eye had locked on Jason's. Chancing a glance to the side, Roy found Jason staring down the Terminator right back. Dick and Roy might as well have not been in the room. 

Then the corner of Jason’s mouth quirked up in what became half smirk, half sneer. "Anyone tell you it’s rude to stare, old man?"

Slade’s mouth spread in a predatory smile. “You’re implying there’s something worth staring at.” His gaze raked over Jason’s body. “All I see is a boy playing dress up in daddy’s Armani.”

Jason’s grip tightened in a fist as he coiled to reply, but Dick was faster.

“Really, babe, there’s no need to be cruel,” he cut in. He smiled too sharply. “Either of you know when the entertainment’s going to start? Hubby and I bought tickets to the show.”

Roy recognized the pattern. Dick was setting them up for code, picking a meeting spot out from under the prying eyes of the rest of the guests. 

Jason didn’t buy in. His jaw clenched and he exhaled through his nose with a snort. “Fuck if I know. Ask your chaperone, pretty boy.”

“Seven’s what I heard,” Roy offered with a shrug. Whatever stick was currently up Jason’s ass, he sure as hell knew better than to turn down a truce if Dick was willing to play nice. 

Dick took it in stride. He melted against Slade and reached for a passing champagne flute. “We’ll have to see if we can make it. We picked up this cruise last minute when Norway fell through. Had to pull some strings, but the honeymoon suite was worth it. I refuse to take anything lower than promenade.” 

_ Two floors up, corridor six, 2100 hours_. Roy made a mental note and stuffed another shrimp in his mouth. “Yeah, wouldn’t wanna get stuck with the lowlifes down in second class.”

Dick’s laugh was subtle but wicked. “There’s only so much air at the top. I don’t apologize for being able to breathe.”

“Speaking of,” Slade interjected, “it’s time we enjoyed our evening.” He gave Jason a final searing once-over before steering Dick in the direction of the grand room. “You boys be careful. I hear they’re checking IDs at the bar.” 

That’s it. Jason was going to snap. Roy stepped in a carefully orchestrated maneuver to obstruct Jason’s line of sight just long enough to tear his attention from murdering Slade fucking Wilson on the spot. Not because the bastard didn’t deserve it, but because a fight to the death in the middle of appetizers would definitely blow their cover. Whatever edge Deathstroke had over Jason, it was deep if he could get under Jason’s skin with a snide comment. 

Roy didn’t like it. But he didn’t like anything this job was shaping up to be. “What’s the plan?” he muttered under his breath once Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-murder were out of sight. 

Jason hadn’t torn his eyes from where they’d disappeared in the crowd. “...We stay. Those assholes don’t change anything.”

“The hell they don’t change anything. You two were eyefucking so hard, I almost turned the hose on you.”

“They don’t change anything,” Jason rumbled again through gritted teeth. 

A different person would have said something—would have pulled Jason aside and dragged him about rivalry and endangering the mission for personal reasons. Fuck knows he’d had enough of those talks himself from mentors and and well-meaning authority figures over the years. 

But that wasn’t his place. He gave Jason shit often enough, but it was because they were two sides to the same coin, two fuck-ups trying to survive in a world that had gutted them so many times they shouldn’t have been able to stand, let alone fight. The thing he and Jason shared, would always share, was they were stubborn as fuck and plain refused to die. 

If Jason decided to fight, Roy would stand beside him. Winning side or not.

He raised a shrimp in salute. “Fuck ‘em.”

X  
  


Three hours later, Dick and Slade slipped through the heavy metal door and into a deserted hallway below the starboard staff quarters. 

Jason pushed off the wall where he’d slumped next to Roy. They’d already set up an EMF barrier and looped the security cam—not that it was necessary with the pulse Dick was sure to be running, and the Slade’s toys. Between all four of their tech, this just became the most cloaked hallway in the western hemisphere.

It didn’t do anything to put Roy at ease.

"Slade, what a pleasant surprise," Jason sniped.

"It's not actually," Roy clarified. "We're just nice enough not to say so."

Dick looked to Roy with a strained expression as they crossed the final yard to stand before them. "Cards on the table, guys,” he said. “Why are you here?"

"The real question is what _ he's _ doing here," Jason returned, nodding toward the Terminator in a tux. "I figured dying and being erased would put you off his radar. At least for a few months."

Slade grinned with a wicked edge. "Jealous, Hood?"

Roy was sure that predatory grin would have sent trained assassins packing. Jason just huffed. "You wish, old man. We both know you can't keep it up anymore."

_ Yeah, they were gonna die. _ "Less talk about the dirty, more talk about getting out of here?" Roy suggested.

Dick agreed. "This could get messy fast. What are you guys here for, and what intel do you have?"

"We’re not teens-in-tights anymore," Jason snapped. "We don't have to tell you shit."

"You don't, but you will," Dick returned seriously. "Neither of us can afford to be in the dark on this one. Not on a boat this small."

Jason glared at him a moment more, then conceded with a sigh. "Fine. But we only talk to you. Terminator can go fuck himself."

Slade, who'd stood by watching the entire exchange with a leer Roy could only describe as _ hell no _ and _ only in nightmares, _continued to smile. How he could look just as intimidating in a tux as in full combat gear was unnerving. "Watch you don’t hurt yourself with that wit, Hood."

Jason flipped him off.

Slade just chuckled and moved to exit. "I suppose I can let you Bats talk it out. Just don't break Grayson's face. He needs it for his cover."

Dick rolled his eyes like it was some kind of joke. “Ten minutes,” he called after him. 

And that was new. When had Dick gotten cozy with _ Deathstroke_? 

They waited unmoving until the door swung shut behind Slade and the hallway was engulfed in silence. It was a moment, a remnant of the Titans Roy didn't want to examine too closely. Dick scanned both ways and tapped his watch. Fancy Spyral gadget, Roy guessed. He'd love to get his hands on the tech, but if he spent his time drooling over the gadgets, experience said the potential to miss crucial details went up exponentially.

Finally Dick turned to them, a look of worry on his face. "We’re alone. Now, what are you both doing here?"

Jason shrugged. "We’re on a case. Found intel about a piece of psychokinetic technology being sold to the highest bidder. Paper trail says the hardware is on this ship."

"It's a nasty piece of work," Roy added in warning. “Preliminary test subjects all died within days of being implanted, but not before doing serious damage to the testing facility they were in, and the staff. The element’s being smuggled by blackmarket runners through Pape’ete,” he concluded. “Commercial cruise lines dock there all the time—easy way to ferry it in without having to hit hard customs."

Dick sighed, but didn’t contradict him. "Their goal is Ambon, specifically. There’s an underground facility there the Shadow League funds for testing out new acquisitions. But if we can catch the element before it even hits port there won’t be a need.” He frowned and crossed his arms. “I barely convinced Midnighter to let me handle this myself while he’s in Kiev. He's gonna lose it if he finds out you two are here, too. This is supposed to be a fast grab and go."

“Supposed to be,” Roy echoed, “but it’s not. Not unless your scanners picked up more than mine. We swept this ship top to bottom and got nothing. Wherever they’re hiding the element, they’ve got it sealed tight.”

“We’ve had the same problem,” Dick admitted. “The guest quarters check out, and the staff rooms, too. Have you narrowed down the suspect pool at all?” 

“Thought we had before we boarded.” Roy pulled a cheap flip-phone-turned-omni-device from his pocket and opened the screen. Quickest way to keep tech safe—disguise it as crap even pickpockets don’t want. “Everyone checks out at a glance, and only a handful of couples and waiters with blank enough backgrounds to be fabricated.”

“We got the same as you,” Jason summed up. “Which is jack shit.”

Dick moved to look over Roy’s shoulder at the small, cracked screen. “The last one of these things I picked up nearly went Cherynobl. With how hot they burn, we should be able to catch a trace of it even in containment.” 

“Maybe we’re on the wrong ship,” Jason tried. He leaned carelessly against a support beam. “Could’ve been a bad tip.” 

Dick shook his head. “Spyral doesn’t do bad tips.” 

Jason frowned. "You're really blowing this 007 smoke up your ass, aren't you."

Roy snorted.

Dick wasn't amused. "It's a lot of dangerous people who don't care who they kill to get what they want. Vigilantes included."

Jason harrumphed, but Roy had heard that tone of voice often enough to know Dick was dead serious and should be taken as such. He slid the phone back into his pocket. "What's the play, then? Why's Deathstroke here?"

If Roy had thought it possible, Dick actually looked... uncomfortable. He shifted uneasily on his feet. "He’s here as backup.”

_ Uh-huh_. And Roy had a bridge to sell. "You’re banging him."

Dick had the decency to look surprised. "What? No!"

Jason's eyes widened. "You are! Holy shit!"

Yeah, they were totally professional vigilantes. World-class assassins. Trained recon operatives. Daily responsible for maintaining millions of dollars worth of tactical equipment.

And barely old enough to order a beer.

"It's a _ couples _cruise!” Dick said in exasperation. “If I’d tried to go solo my cover wouldn’t hold!” 

“Uh-huh,” Roy said aloud this time. “And the ass-groping was just to really sell it.”

Jason smirked and pressed his advantage, stepping into Dick’s space. “All that bullshit about not crossing the line, and you’re off choking on Deathstroke’s cock.” 

Dick’s expression went dark, his brows drawn. “Who I sleep with or not isn’t any of your business.” He turned his stern glare to Roy. “Slade is here as a favor to me. He owes me one, and I called it in.”

“Or you just wanted to take your murder bang on a tropical vacation on the company dime,” Jason said. “Let me give you a tip—you’re not his type.”

“And how would you know, Jay?”

To Roy’s surprise, a flush crept over Jason’s face, and his jaw clenched in an angry tic. 

For the second time that night, Roy’s jaw almost dropped. _ No way. _

Dick knew he’d landed a hit. “You’re full of shit, Hood. Stop chest-pounding before it endangers the mission.” 

The service door clunked open. They all tensed into a defense, reaching for weapons, but Slade stepped through with casual indifference. “Time’s up, Grayson. We need to make an appearance in the casino before last call.” 

Dick nodded in agreement and pulled something up on his watch. “We need to work together whether we like it or not. I have more intel on the Shadow League, so we’ll work on sniffing out agents while you track down the element. Arsenal’s gear is better quality for that anyway. If either team uncovers something, we tell each other. No moving without keeping the others informed, agreed?” 

He could tell Jason wanted to agree about as much as he wanted a Beretta to the face. But Slade was staring him down again, just waiting for either of them to challenge Dick’s lead. Roy knew Dick wouldn’t have brought Deathstroke along if they didn’t have some kind of agreement, but Slade’s word only held as long as the money did, or whatever fucked up rationale led him to agree in the first place. 

He just hoped Dick knew what he was doing. Dick wouldn’t endanger a mission—people’s lives—if he wasn’t confident he had a grip on the situation. He also had a bad habit of hoping the best of people at the expense of his own safety. 

Jason stared Slade dead in the eye. “We’ll screen the lower decks. Frequency 22.6.”

Dick’s shoulders visibly relaxed. His winning smile made a ghost of an appearance as he pulled up his comm unit and programmed it in. 

Roy did his best not to say anything. 

"Then I guess we'll be seeing you around... Mister and Mister Raymond?" Dick's eyebrows leapt as he scanned the read out. 

"Never saw you as the committed type, Hood,” Slade mocked.

Jason grit his teeth. Roy bit back anger, knowing that barb hit harder home than Slade knew. Or maybe he did know, and that's why he said it.

That was it. Roy refused to sit back and watch this guy eviscerate him. "Yeah, well, shows what you know," he ground out. Reaching over to brush Jason's hand, he said in all seriousness, "Come on, babe."

To his credit, Jason didn't even blink. A smirk lit his face, and he laced Roy’s hand in his own. "Fuck 'em."

Dick watched them go. If nothing else, the look of absolute astonishment on his face made it all worth it.

X

Once they were out of earshot, Jason slipped their hands apart to grab his wallet scrambler to make sure they weren’t being followed. He glanced back to Roy with an exasperated smile. “We really doing this, honey bunch?" 

His voice dripped with sarcasm. Roy had to fight back a flinch, and he shrugged instead. "Yeah, well... Can't let Wonder Boy get ahead of us, right? Not to mention the freaking Terminator."

Jason huffed in response as he turned down the service corridor to their cabin.

"What are we gonna do about supplies while we're out here?” Roy said. “D’you think Kori will fly some in off the mainland?"

Jason shrugged. "Probably if we ask her, but I wouldn't ask for more than one drop. The last time she accused me of using her as a courier service, I couldn't sit right for a week." 

Roy snorted. He remembered that one. 

They rounded the final corner and slipped back into the guest corridor unseen. Only a few doors down, and Roy located their room number. He pulled the keycard out of his pocket and swiped it across the pad.

The large metal door swung open.

A room barely 100 square feet met them. Faded walls, bland curtains, and what he could only assume was a bathroom behind a flimsy faux wood screen. A single bed dominated the space, with only a few feet on either side to maneuver. The mattress wasn’t much to speak of, either—smaller than a regular, probably to fit the cramped space. 

Roy didn't say anything. He wasn't sure he could speak. He'd somehow forgotten this part. Jason and he did a desultory visual and radio scan for listening devices. Nothing, and no feedback. When the all clear was established, Jason's shoulders relaxed visibly. He double tapped his comm.

"Hey, Kori," he said, almost sing-song.

_ "Yes, Jason?" _

"Why is our room the size of a closet?"

"_Roy was in charge of acquiring the accommodations." _

_ Thanks, Kor. _ "We weren't ever supposed to _ use _them," he said. "It was a quick grab and go, gone before dessert."

Jason threw his jacket on the bed and flopped down after it. "Yeah, well. Looks like we're getting cozy. Do we have a strategy?"

_ "I can fly you in supplies for the trip, but it will be risky." _

"Our cover isn't going to pass if all we've got is a tux. How soon can you have them to us?"

_ "Transport will not be the problem. Assembling them will take a few hours, though." _

"Just toss in a pair of Bermuda shorts and a Henley and call it good," Jason argued. "We don't need to pass the baggage claim."

Kori's voice became stern. _ "It is a ten day cruise, Jason. You will not pass in Bermuda shorts and a Henley." _

Jason rolled his eyes. Roy nudged his knee, and Jason scooted a few inches for Roy to collapse beside him. 

"Just get it here," Jason snapped. When there was silence on the other end, Jason sighed. "Please. Sorry. Didn't mean to gripe at you."

Roy couldn't help the small smile that tugged the corners of his mouth. Jason did that kind of shit, ran a class-A bastard act until he thought you weren't looking. Kori more than most could bring that out in him, the gentle.

He wasn't sure what sex had been like between them, but he's pretty sure it was nothing like what Kori and _he _had shared. He and Kori had been bored, horny teenagers. She and Jason had been something deeper. He could hear it now in Jason's voice. 

“I’ll owe you a drink.”

“_You will both owe me. A night on Venice Beach_.”

That sounded pretty great about now. “A whole goddamn weekend,” he agreed. 

The disconnect clicked over the comms. He and Jason lay staring at the ceiling for a few minutes. Roy listened to his own breath, and the occasional _ thunk _of the cabins around them. "This is gonna be a hoot,” he said at last.

"Yep.” Another beat. "Dibs on first shower."

"Mother_fucker_."


End file.
